The Thief Complex
by suckersoprano
Summary: Craig is a high school history teacher who moonlights as a cat burglar stealing historical artifacts. His most recent heist doesn't go quite as planned. NSFW, adult content, violence
1. Chapter 1

_The assumed profile of this dangerous six-time thief is a tall male with above-average strength and the ability to jump extraordinarily high. Any clues to his identity should be submitted immediately to the police at the number below; though his reputation has reached near super villain cat burglar status, police are confident they will be able to find the culprit behind the thefts of the most expensive items held by the richest people in the city. All six are offering a huge reward for the return of their jewels, historical artifacts, and other stolen goods, in case they are found. The decadent and eccentric Richard Heathcliff has made a statement to this master thief, "If he wants to try to come and steal from me, he just better be ready, giving the poor guy some warning."_

Craig rolled his eyes and blew his blonde bangs out of his face. He straightened the newspaper with a flick of his wrist with a raised eyebrow. He was sitting in his apartment in just a pair of sweatpants, halfway between upset that they'd gotten his profile so very wrong and half amused at this blowhard millionaire who thought he could outsmart him. Standing at 5'6", he wasn't exactly what anyone would call 'tall' and frankly, he wasn't terribly strong, not in the conventional sense.

The newspaper was quickly cut into shreds, saving the article and then tacked to the nearest corkboard. Craig Renshaw's apartment resembled something out of a FBI detective novel; covered in pictures of people, places, events, valuable objects all over nearly every square inch of the walls. He had stacks of large plastic containers filled with goods, holding up his desk, acting as a coffee table. It looked like a mess, but it was all very meticulously organized by weight, value, and type of good. It wouldn't do to put the gemstones with the historical artifacts, clearly.

He quickly glanced at the pictures he'd gathered for this heist, inspecting the pilfered blueprints of the Heathcliff Manor he was intending on breaking into tonight. This… man didn't believe in keeping things locked up in banks or anything, he kept _everything_ in his home from which he was frequently absent. He was some kind of playboy who had his own jet and a bevy of women following him at all times; Craig just so happened to be privy to a little tidbit of information on his whereabouts for the next week. Mexico was quite a distance from this humble little city. Mr. Heathcliff didn't do himself any favors by being a paparazzi walking target. Craig had pictures of several different actresses and socialites wrapped up in his arms in different states of decency on one wall. Yes, this would be too easy.

Tossing out ideas about arrogant millionaires, Craig started to push the boxes of gemstones out of his living room with a singular couch to make room. He didn't own much, save the things he'd stolen already. He had a day job teaching high school history which didn't afford him a lot, save the apartment, a very good laptop, and a broken-down car that he drove as few places as he could manage. Well, that and a lot of gadgetry he'd not mention to polite company. He sat down on the middle of the carpet and pulled his legs into a sure Lotus position, placing his palms on his knees and shutting his eyes. He straightened his back and took in a deep breath, concentrating on the muscles of his stomach and his lungs.

Focusing on clearing his mind was actually a difficult task for him, which is why he made a point of centering himself before going to do anything important. He had ever since he was a teenager, something his mother forced on him, along with a myriad of stereotypically feminine things. She had clearly wanted a girl instead of her only son, so she enrolled him in several classes she was anticipating for her daughter. Ballet, yoga, gymnastics, piano, and a begrudging love of pink were all things that carried into his late twenties, the Choi Kwang-Do classes being the only thing he managed to choose for himself. He took another deep breath and pushed his thoughts of his mother out of his mind.

His thoughts drifted to why he'd started stealing things in the first place. It happened quite by accident when introduced to a curator of a museum he'd dragged a class to; the man was a bumbling fool, handling a very ancient set of small statues from B.C.E. like a child's building blocks. Craig had relied on his oft-forgotten charm to snag them and now they were in a box, preserved very carefully, in his closet. That man probably didn't remember him or those statues now except for the furtive oral he got in his office. Oh how his students asked questions that day, 'Mr. Renshaw, are you married or dating someone?', 'Mr. Renshaw, I heard that you're gay!', and of course, 'Mr. Renshaw, you have something in your hair!' Craig couldn't remember a moment in his life where he was gladder for overpassing birds and a razor-sharp mind. The rest of the questions were ignored; no one had even been _in_ his apartment since he started this, he was obviously not married or involved in some way.

With another mental push, all of that was out of his mind as well. He was dwelling in a state of empty-minded bliss for a moment letting the calm wash over him. He opened his sharp pink eyes and carefully unfolded his legs, moving to stand very straight and lean his head back, moving his elbows to a sharp angle with his hands pressed on his neck. Stretching like this was very important, he found out the hard way. He'd pulled a muscle one of the first times he'd snuck into a building and had to lie through his teeth and rang up a massage therapist bill like no other. Again, that oft-forgotten charm came in handy, he thought ruefully, gently stretching his shoulders over his head. The massage therapist had been sweet and cute, at least, which was more than he could say for that bumbling curator. The curator had something of a sexy accent, though; making up for his inability to shut up.

A roll of his neck gave a surprising crack of air leaving joints, knocking the massage therapist and his gentle hands out of mind rather abruptly. He spread his legs out more than shoulder width apart and leaned down to grab his ankles. Shutting his eyes and letting himself breath normally, he practiced keeping calm and still while upside-down for a moment. He'd done it enough times without worry, but it was very important to be prepared. He stretched the rest of his body without problem, feeling much lighter and very limber now.

His bed was littered with the nondescript outfight he chose for the night, tossing off his sweatpants in favor of a pair of trousers that were sturdy, but gave him all the room he needed to move. He completely bypassed any underclothing; it was too restrictive, more so than just the trousers alone and elastic didn't tend to be nice to his sensitive pale skin when climbing around on rooftops. A pair of socks were donned and his favorite boots were pulled off of the floor. They were black, leather, and laced up the front, which was a danger, but they were never going to slip and supported his ankles better than anything he'd ever found before. He laced them up very tightly, looping the laces around the open eyelets at the top like a practiced minuteman. He slipped on a lightweight, sweat-absorbing tank top and tucked the hem into his trousers before looping a thin pink belt around its belt loops. A funny little touch, anyone else might say, but it was his lucky belt, though he'd claim not to be superstitious. The final necessary touch on this ensemble was a pair of pink arm warmers, which he quickly pulled up to mid-bicep. He'd gotten into a pinch while hacking a security system from a vent and set the damn thing off by sweating on it once and he was never less careful since.

He grabbed a little bit of equipment, nothing too major. He didn't expect much of a challenge from Mr. Heathcliff's staff, nor from his house, but it didn't hurt to be prepared. He picked up his special glasses and replaced his original ones on the nightstand, flicking the settings on his thicker, but more useful glasses before placing them on his nose. This was a handy bit of equipment that he'd paid quite a lot of money for; they allowed him to see infrared and a few other useful features. He slipped the collapsible baton he kept around in case of emergencies in the sewn-in pocket on the inside of his shirt and tugged on a pair of light leather gloves.

The costume was almost pulled together; he completed it by pulling on a short, black trench coat with a heavy silver buckle in the front. He carefully picked up a mask from his dresser, it was porcelain white Mardi Gras mask with gold filigree around the eyes, ending in curved points along the cheekbones. He didn't anticipate on using it much, but just in case there was a camera he couldn't disable, or an unsuspecting witness he didn't account for. He tucked the mask into his coat and left his apartment, sure to lock the door. Time to go hail a cab…


	2. Chapter 2

The mansion on the edge of town sounded frightfully cliché to Craig, but here Heathcliff Manor stood in all its pristine glory. Craig had asked the cab to drop him off at a cemetery a mile away and told him not to come back. The cabby has left without asking, hopefully out of pity or pure apathy.

Craig circled the high walls of their gated land, finding a good place to grab on the wall. He easily scaled the ten foot wall, perching on the top of the brick to scout his surroundings. It was surprisingly empty, devoid of any traps, alarms or guards in any place. Craig rolled his eyes at the over-confidence of Richard Heathcliff, though he wasn't about to underestimate the fool. The landing on the way down was smooth as well, as he dashed to a long set of windows to peer inside. Shadows moving along the lighted hallway said that there were people inside, but none were close. It wasn't worth the risk, still, so Craig gripped the window sill and started to climb. He pulled himself up to the second floor, balancing himself on the ledge, gently pressing his fingertips to the window for balance.

There didn't appear to be anyone in this room, but upon inspection of the window, there was an alarm tucked into one of the corners. Too risky, he couldn't jam it from here and if he had to guess, there were more in all of the windows. He stretched as far as he could and climbed to the top floor, arching and stretching to his limit to scramble up to the rooftop. Even the shingles were pristine, Craig noted, like someone came up here to dust them as well as all of the pictures and knick-knacks.

He held his hands out once he'd maintained his balance on the roof so he could carefully walk along the pitched roof. He reached a skylight, peering down into what appeared to be a large kitchen. He skirted around the edges, searching for some kind of alarm or trip wire or anything. Nothing appeared to be there; how careless. Craig uncoiled a rope from his coat's many pockets, clipping a set of carbineers to the rope to fashion himself a sling. He lifted open the skylight window and expertly tied a secure knot around one of the gutters. He pulled the mask from his trench and tied it around his head, adjusting the eyeholes around his glasses. With a bit of quick positioning, the ropes were wrapped around him and he was ready to lower himself into the kitchen. Gloves were especially useful in these instances, allowing him to circumvent rope burn as well as whiplash.

Craig gently leaned through the window opening, careful not to begin this part too fast. He took the lead rope in one hand and the slack in the other, letting the slack slip through his fingers very slowly while he scanned the room for anyone. The room was dark and silent, so Craig began the descent to the ground, continually scanning the area. It was a huge kitchen, all covered in polished stainless steel. It resembled a five-star restaurant's kitchen, leading Craig to believe that he had a full kitchen staff as well. Spoiled rich brat, of course.

Craig's feet touched the ground and he quickly unhooked the carabineers, letting his full weight hit the ground without a sound. Leaving the rope behind, he stole through the kitchen, heading toward a darkened hallway. He picked a direction, recalling the majority of the house was the opposite direction. He wasn't entirely sure where Mr. Heathcliff kept his things, but Craig would be damned if he missed something. He could see a couple of lights underneath some of the several closed doors. A little bit of concentration kept his breathing even, though his heart was pounding. This was always exhilarating; being someplace no one expected, completely without permission was something thrilling Craig couldn't explain.

He stopped to press his back against a wall and shut his eyes so he could remember where the bigger rooms in the house were. There should be one down the hall to his left… Craig picked a door with the lights off, gently trying the doorknob. Locked. He pulled a long needle shoved on the inside of his belt and started to pick the lock. A few moments later, the door opened with a satisfying click.

"HEY, what are you doing?" a voice abruptly shouted from behind him.

Craig stiffened. He'd been caught.

He threw open the door and shut it behind him as fast as he could, locking it again. He flipped a couple of lenses on his glasses, moving to something that would help him see a little better in the dark. He was in a bedroom; a large and plus bedroom with a huge canopy bed and a wardrobe. The whole room looked about as big as Craig's sad apartment, minus restricting walls. He pulled himself away from the door and continued into the room, inspecting the furniture until a door suddenly opened, pouring light into the room. Craig dove to the floor and rolled under the bed as silently as he could.

A figure stepped out of the bathroom, flicking the fan off in the bathroom and the light on in the bedroom. Craig blinked a couple of times, trying to get his eyes used to the sudden light. He shifted underneath the bed to see the face of the person he was now trapped in a room with. Craig nearly groaned in frustration, but he managed to keep his mouth shut. The ruggedly handsome face he was looking at, he was all too familiar with. It was the face of Richard Heathcliff, master of the house, with a towel round his waist and a bare chest, face newly shaven and hair dripping with water.

Mr. Heathcliff didn't seem to notice that anyone had come in and surprisingly, no one was banging down the do—Craig thought much too soon as someone immediately began to pound on the door; their cries demanding that someone open up were muffled by the thick wood. Mr. Heathcliff raised an eyebrow, but didn't answer; instead, he disappeared into a closet and returned with just a pair of trousers on, mopping up his wet hair with the towel. He idly wandered around the room with a lofty expression on his face.

"Did we get a surprise visit from the neighborhood cat burglar?" Mr. Heathcliff asked in a sing-song voice, "Right on time, my friend. You're very predictable."

Craig bit down on his tongue until he could taste copper. If he hadn't, he'd be swearing up a storm right now. He simply watched as the half-naked man waltzed around the large room, peeking into closets, in wardrobes, to see if he could find him. He wasn't checking anywhere near the bed yet, but Craig was already pulling out the collapsible baton from the sewn-in pocket on his front.

"Gotcha," he suddenly heard.

The burglar could only yelp as his ankle was grabbed and he was dragged out from underneath of the bed. He pressed the button on his baton, making it extend as he swung it toward Heathcliff's face. Heathcliff made a noise of surprise and let go of Craig's ankle, jumping backwards before the metal connected with his face.

"Woah! Came looking for a fight, huh?" he said, grin very obvious on his face.

"Fuck off," Craig spat, rolling to his feet.

"Mmhmm, mask and everything. You're that cat burglar, just like we anticipated," Heathcliff said, looking pleased, "Name's Rick, sweetheart. You're a lot shorter than I thought you were going to be!"

Craig held the baton in a defense position, unnerved by the man's calm and also his size. Yes, Craig knew that the man was probably northward of six feet, but that was a whole other thing when that was staring you in the face, fists in boxing position. He stayed silent until _Rick_ as he so cordially introduced himself, came at him, swinging for an uppercut. Craig trapped his wrist between his hand and the baton and twisted with all of his strength. The swing wasn't lessened by much and knocked the mask right off of Craig's face.

"Shit!" Craig swore as he saw the mask clatter on the floor.

His glasses were thankfully very firmly on his face, or they would have gone with the mask. Craig whipped around and made a dive over the bed, to avoid _Rick_ seeing his face. He felt something yank him back by the ankle; his leg shot out, kicking Rick in the head.

"Getoffa me!" Craig cried, successfully dislodging the brute's hand from his ankle.

Thank god for decent boots, was all he could think as he scrambled over the mattress and lunged for the door. All the wind was knocked out of him suddenly and he stumbled to the floor, clutching his side. Foolishly, he glanced up at Rick, who was smirking at him winningly, fist extended.

"Aw, you're kinda cute for a little guy," he mocked, eyes roaming Craig's face for obvious reasons.

Craig swore under his breath at his negligence, but there wasn't anything to be done about it now. He leapt to his feet and swung the baton at Rick, aiming for the head, hoping for some head trauma so he'd forget or at least be unreliable. Rick, unfortunately, saw this coming and grabbed Craig's wrist and pulled him forward, pinning it behind him with a cruel twist.

"Fuck you! Let go!" Craig cried, trying to wrench himself from the bigger man's grasp.

Rick took his free hand and ran it across Craig's chest, apparently searching for stolen goods, which Craig had shamefully not acquired yet. Craig flinched, but didn't move, waiting for the opportunity while quietly turning his baton around in his hand. He nearly jumped when Rick's large hands grabbed his crotch as well; he heard a dark chuckle. _Bastard._ It didn't escape the burglar that Rick's hands were lingering a bit _too_ long across his body, which just made it so much sweeter when he stabbed his baton in the man's ribs, getting him to let go.

"Aw _fuck_, you little—," Rick cried, grasping his ribs with a gasp of serious pain.

Craig bolted away and tore off his trench coat for ease of movement and glared at the man blocking the only doorway out. He flipped the baton back around expertly and held it over his head, expertly bending his knees, ready to strike. Rick recovered much quicker than Craig would have liked, but it wasn't something he couldn't handle.

"You're quite a scrapper for being so scrawny," Rick said, mirth completely out of his voice now.

"Full of underestimations, Mr. Heathcliff," Craig spat.

Rick balled his hands into fists and held them up again. Craig saw him carefully moving in a circle and followed suit, carefully crossing one foot over the other, watching Rick with a fixed gaze.

"Who are you?" Rick growled.

"Quite dense of you to think I'd volunteer the information so readily," Craig sniffed.

"Got an alias? Mr. _Pink_, perhaps?" Rick eyed the pink arm warmers and belt Craig sported with some amused disdain.

Craig searched his mind for a moment, "Call me _Autolykos_," he said, suddenly grateful for the unit on Greek history in his freshman class.

"Auto-what?" Rick snorted.

"You're just as simple as I thought you might be," Craig sniffed.

Rick halted, which Craig realized with some panic was right in front of the door. He normally wasn't this_ careless_ when it came to a heist.

"Simple maybe, but I got your ass cornered," Rick's mouth was in a lopsided grin that made Craig inexplicably angry.

"Fuck off!" he cried, lunging forward to jab the baton in his gut, but he was caught but the waist and hauled up.

He flailed for a moment before hitting something much softer than he anticipated; this spoiled and _heavy_ millionaire on top of him, pushing his shoulders against a mattress. Craig bared his teeth at the grinning idiot on top of him, his wet hair hanging down in front of his face; he _was_ cornered now and he'd be damned if he didn't get out of it. Craig inconspicuously parted his knees for an idea that struck him. This man wanted to be a molesting idiot, he would pay for it.

"Gotcha, kitten," Rick said softly, making Craig shudder for several different reasons.

If it came down to this, at least it would be somewhat enjoyable… Just as Craig had anticipated, Rick was shifting his weight from on top of his stomach to between his legs. He very carefully lifted a knee to nudge Rick's crotch.

"Look, you let me walk out of here in one piece, I'll do _whatever_ it is you want," Craig seethed, taking a quick breath to turn his voice from angry to something more of a purr, "I'm fairly _flexible_, if not very strong."

Rick's soft chuckle was dark and obvious, but it wasn't a refusal. In fact, once Craig lowered his knee, Rick was positioning himself between the thief's thighs, very carefully sliding his own knees under Craig's legs. Craig bit his lip in an effort to hide the knowing smile that almost played across his mouth; Rick leaned down and bit at his exposed collarbone. The gasp that came because of it would have normally been faked, but Rick's strong hands, sudden teeth, and subtle scent made Craig's head swim before he remembered what he was trying to do.

The tense two moments too long after Rick's hand moved from Craig's shoulder to the button of his pants were all it took for Craig to remember: _escape._ He brought down the baton across Rick's head as hard as he could, kneeing him in the groin and shoving his weight off of him with all of his might. Rick clutched his head with a groan of pain, still unfortunately conscious, but it gave Craig all the opening he needed to run right through the door.

He burst though it and was immediately faced with several men in suits with ear pieces. He swore under his breath; he was completely trapped. He stiffened as he felt a stinging pain and then electricity shot all through his body, all of his muscles seizing up. He couldn't even scream, though it hurt worse than anything he'd ever felt. He suddenly relaxed and hit the floor, someone approaching to dislodge the Taser-gun pack from his back. All of his muscles betrayed him; he couldn't lift himself from the floor.

The door swung open again and Rick was standing there, rubbing his still damp hair with an angry expression of pain, "Thought you could get away that easily? I'm offended," he sneered at the fallen burglar, "Take him downstairs to one of the rooms without any windows, make sure you post people at his door, _and _do us all a favor and handcuff him to something that _can't move. _I already checked if he had anything on him and FIND OUT HOW HE GOT IN._"_

Craig felt two pairs of large hands lift him off of the floor, but he didn't have the energy to fight it. He'd never been shocked before and it was going to take him a second to recover. He almost smirked when he heard the order to restrain him; _now_ he wasn't being underestimated. Small victory when he was about to be at the mercy of the fool millionaire Mr. Heathcliff.


	3. Chapter 3

Several flights of stairs later, he was being handcuffed to a bed frame, sitting on the floor to ensure maximum humiliation and immobility, of course. Or at least, that is what Craig thought bitterly as two nondescript bodyguards slapped the metal around his wrists. They left him alone with a distinct _clack_ of a locking door. Craig leaned his head against the mattress; at least he had a silent moment alone to think. There was a _reason_ he wasn't immediately carted off to the authorities and he had a couple theories.

The only reason he was here was because of the ancient weapons collection Mr. Heathcliff boasted about often in the papers. If an investigation team got here, they would want to comb over his inventory to ensure Craig hadn't destroyed or gotten away with anything, for the verdict's sake. If the thief had to guess, _Rick_ was trying to hide something; he was trying to prevent too close an eye cast on his _toys._ This was something Craig could certainly use to his advantage. This meant he had a chance to escape, pack up all of his things and smuggle them to a different country. Occasionally, being paranoid saved his ass; it may seem extreme, but if he was ever found out, he'd be publically humiliated on top of jailed for god knew how long. That was not going to sit well with him; sitting in a cell with nothing but memories of scandal in his mind. He was a high school_ teacher_; there was no plausible way he'd be able to afford a decent lawyer…

That train of thought was interrupted by someone unlocking the door and entering the room. Craig picked his head back up and saw Mr. Richard Heathcliff striding into the room with a devilishly smug look on his handsome features. This time, he was completely dressed, wearing the same slacks Craig had fought him in, but with an added emerald green dress shirt, untucked. Craig fixed a glare on the millionaire, unsure of where this was going; he only had to hope it didn't involve torture.

"Oh good, they _did_ put you in this room," Rick said, pacing around the smallish room, checking the closet and the vanity before pulling up the chair from the desk and sitting down, crossing his leg over the other knee.

"What do you want from me?" Craig spat, "You should turn me over to the police, the FBI, something."

"Oh, I think we can come to an _agreement_."

"Fuck off; I'd rather go to jail."

"And risk your cute little tenured high school teaching position?"

Craig froze eyes wide. Oh _shit,_ this bastard already knew more about him than he'd tell a polite acquaintance!

"Autolykos, something from the Odyssey, right?" Rick was quick to change the subject, but the hole of horror and anxiety hadn't left the pit of Craig's stomach.

He swallowed hard, "Yes, a demi-god who was well-known for being an invisible thief," he managed to spit out, much less venom in his voice.

"_Craig_ suits you much better."

"H-how much do you know about me?"

Rick gave Craig something of an amused smile, "I could ask you the same, Mr. Renshaw."

Craig paled and felt lightheaded. He was only dimly aware that one of his handcuffs was suddenly released; he was brought back to reality when he was marched to the chair Rick was occupying and his hands handcuffed behind the back, making his shoulders arch and his chest stick out.

"What were you planning on stealing, Mr. Renshaw," Rick more commanded than asked.

"It's no secret that you have a _collection,_" Craig managed to sputter, still recovering from shock.

"You only steal artifacts," Rick pointed out, "I've been keeping up with you. What do you do with them?"

Craig scoffed and looked away; he wasn't going to inform this idiot _why_ he stole millions of dollars of priceless historical artifacts. He was formulating a smug lie when he felt fingers pressing against his chin, forcing him to look up at a pair of intense green eyes. Craig balked, cringing visibly in the chair. He didn't want to show it, but he was really frightened; this man could do whatever he liked and no one would be the wiser. Rick's mouth was curled into a cruel grin; Craig could only guess his fear was obvious on his face regardless.

"It's in your best interest to answer me, _Mr. Renshaw_."

"_Fuck off."_

Rick let go of Craig's chin for half a second to slap him soundly across the cheek. Craig was suddenly looking at the closet, wide-eyed and slack jawed; his cheek stung smartly. He turned back toward Rick, who wore a steely expression of challenge. Craig's shocked expression immediately hardened into a fierce glare. There was no way this man was going to break him that easily.

"Clearly you did not hear me, _fuck off," _Craig snarled, only to be met with another, harder slap.

The room reeled for a moment and Craig could taste the coppery bite of blood from a bitten tongue. He felt the world off-balance but Rick put a firm foot on the space right in front of Craig's crotch to slam the chair right back down. Craig bared his teeth again, feeling dizzy from the sudden loss of balance. Blood trickled down his chin, but he kept his eyes in a firm glare.

Rick's green eyes were intense and dark; Craig was beginning to think it wasn't worth it to keep the secret. The thought passed him by when his gaze settled on the smug smirk on Rick's mouth. He was dead in the water, Craig knew that, but like _hell_ he was going to break that easily. If he was going to spend most of his life in prison, he would go away with his goddamn _dignity._

"Someone like you isn't going to do very well in prison, Mr. Renshaw," Rick's thumb brushed away the thin trail of blood across Craig's mouth, making him flinch away in disgust, "Someone soft and almost _pretty_ is not going to have a fun time trying to fight off _admirers_ who happen to be bigger than _me._ I didn't have too hard a time of knocking you into submission, anyway."

Craig finally deigned to let himself exhale. The fear was starting to show through the cracks due to this "interrogation." He almost didn't trust himself to speak. He knew the consequences here, he always knew them; this wasn't news to him, but the way _he_ said it… It seemed all the more palpable and _horrifying_. He took a deep breath, trying to wrench his chin away from the strong hand that held it in Rick's gaze.

"So, I know you haven't sold any of the items you've stolen," Rick let Craig's chin drop, "_What did you do with them?"_

Craig finally lifted his chin in a proud manner, giving Rick an insolent expression, "I_ kept_ them."

"Why?"

"I _seriously_ doubt someone as simple as _you_ could understand the necessary things that ancient need to be preserved," Craig scoffed.

Rick moved his foot off of the chair to stare down at the trapped burglar, "Is that so? A _history_ teacher stealing ancient artifacts to _preserve_ them?"

Craig glared right back up at his captor, daring him to come up with another reason he would keep things he'd stolen from museums, rich collection owners, among other places. Rick's expression turned from shocked silence to that goddamned knowing smile that made Craig wish he were in a better situations so he could kick him right in the nads. God, if this asshole knew his full name, he was _fucked._ He really wished he'd put some trust in storage facilities, but they were so damp and completely unsuited for preserving what he had stolen…

His train of thought was interrupted by Rick moving toward the closet. He flung open the doors and started to hum idly. Craig leaned his head back with a frustrated groan when he realized it was the theme to _Pink Panther. _Right now, the thief would much rather be dealing with seven-foot prison inmates who hadn't seen a woman in fifteen years rather than this condescending _ass_.

"I have a _proposal_ for you, Mr. Renshaw," Rick mentioned between choruses, "Hard as you tried, you. Got. Nothing. If I were to turn you in, you could maybe get away with a breaking and entering charge, if they don't pin you for the rest of the stolen goods. Just that alone is maybe… eh, off the top of my head, five years? Ten years?"

Craig didn't even bother to look up at the humming man. That sounded right, for an unarmed robbery, breaking and entering at nighttime. Not that Craig looked it up several times while in the midst of a panic attack; it was just… a guess, yes.

"I'm not sure what bail on that would be, but I'm willing to be lenient. Work for me for the weekend and I'll let you off the hook. No strings, no cops coming after you once you're gone, just being a waiter for a party and then cleaning up afterward," Rick said, still shuffling through the closet.

"As if I would agree to something so humiliating."

"Oh, Mr. Renshaw, you don't even know the half of it."

Regardless of how vague and mildly ominous that sounded, Rick didn't allow any time for Craig to snarl out another answer. He selected a hanger from the closet and laid a dry cleaning bag on the bed without another word, ignoring the swears and threats from the handcuffed burglar. He took one last look at the blonde man before producing a key from his pocket.

"All this will start soon; you can either put on the uniform or get arrested. Your choice, you have five minutes," he said with a smirk and a shrug.

Once Craig's wrists were free, he rubbed the obvious red marks, forgetting he had a chance to attack the millionaire. He was already out of the room, door slammed shut. Craig's eyes darted around the room. There was no other escape route aside from the door he came into. He didn't have much of a choice. He had no tools anymore, no baton, and no way out except for a one-way ticket to the 'downtown' and as much as he bluffed, that didn't sound particularly pleasant. Plus… if he did this, he'd have more of a chance to get the hell out without any issues.

He swallowed hard and stripped off his clothing. He shivered once he was completely naked, opening the dry cleaning back gingerly. Inside there was a simple tuxedo shirt, surprisingly close to his size, if a little smaller than he felt was comfortable. He quickly unbuttoned the shirt off of the hanger, throwing it on in record speed. He tugged on the provided tuxedo trousers, wishing that he'd worn boxers or something for once while he carefully zipped up the fly. The outfit was finished off with a form-fitting vest and a bowtie, which he had no idea how to tie. He slipped on the shoes, discarded at the bottom of the bag and the look was mostly completed, sans the bow tie. The door opened just as he was fumbling with the strip of cloth. Rick stepped back into the room, alone, grinning from ear to ear. Craig wished he could kick the bastard and run, but it wasn't feasible anymore.

"Made your choice?" Rick asked lightly, eyes glinting dangerously, "Let me help you with that."

There was nearly no time between Rick at the door and suddenly Rick right in front of Craig, grasping the bow tie and looping it around the collar of the tuxedo shirt. Craig visibly flinched and glared up at the taller man, but did not move. Rick had one eyebrow raised, eyes focused on tying the bowtie. Craig watched intently, keeping track of the looping movements. Craig's chin was lifted with two fingers to look up at Rick's aggravating smile.

"Ready now, sweetheart?"

"I hate you," Craig said in a low voice.


	4. Chapter 4

Craig was quickly escorted into the same kitchen he'd snuck into. The rope he'd brought was gone and the skylight was closed; he stared up at the glass, wondering how quickly they had managed to cover up his entrance. He was immediately pushed further into the kitchen by his 'escorts,' leaving Craig to wonder just how quickly the kitchen went from dark and empty to bustling with life. All of this was starting to seem strange, if he were to think about it.

"Excuse me," he asked another man wearing the same uniform, "Wasn't Mr. Heathcliff supposed to be out of town this weekend?"

The other waiter simply gave him a knowing smile, like he had his own private little joke before scuttling off with a wide tray of champagne flutes. Craig stared after him with a glare, angry that he hadn't gotten an answer. Mexico was miles away and _Rick_ was not anywhere near it. His theory about Mr. Heathcliff trying to keep his stuff a secret was starting to sprout some leaks. He was handed a tray full of some kind of hors d'oeuvres that Craig couldn't identify, and shooed out a set of swinging doors.

There was a ball room just past those doors, brilliantly lit and plushly carpeted, dotted with expensive Rococo-esque furniture. Well-dressed people were chatting with each other, lying on the furniture leisurely. Most look like scholarly types, Craig noted as a few tweed-suited men he assumed were professors took a few of the finger foods off of his tray. A few looked familiar, like Craig had seen them at a university or when he went to school… He nearly felt an electric shock when he realized that was _not_ it.

Oh god; he was standing in a room full of people he'd _stolen from._ He sharply inhaled and reminded himself that none of them knew what he looked like. He spotted the owner of a small museum in the corner, laughing with her husband; her dark eyes serious, but happy, as always. Her stoic-looking husband held their only child who had curly blonde hair and a rocket ship half stuffed into his mouth. The young blonde university librarian passed him chatting animatedly with an aging historian with snow-white hair and an intimidating old woman demeanor. He knew all of these people _very _intimately due to his desire to research his heists before he committed them. He shut his eyes for a moment to try to calm himself. None of them had even seen _him_ let alone his _face_. He felt like he was on the set of some badly done reality TV show.

He opened his eyes and froze mid-exhale. Standing against the wall, trying to speak to a rather annoyed looking brunette woman, was a familiar looking British curator; _Wheatley Stuart_, Craig remembered. He immediately turned to scurry the other direction when he heard someone calling.

"Excuse me, oh, excuse me, waiter!" called that _obnoxious_ voice.

Craig turned and plastered on a smile that might have looked threatening to anyone with half a brain, "Yes, _sir?"_

"Do you think you could bring us some champagne? I hate to be a bother, but you don't mind do you?" Mr. Stuart asked with a winning grin that dropped into a curious frown, "Hey, mate, do I know you?"

"Yes, sir, right away," Craig nearly cried, glad for an excuse to get the fuck away from that man.

With a swing of the kitchen doors, Craig immediately set down the tray of food. There was surprisingly no one in the kitchen. He found this suspicious, but then heard voices talking about moving plates out the door quickly. Craig seized his chance and moved out of another door. He pressed his back against the wall and breathed deeply. This night was getting downright _eerie._

Now that he was alone, he could perhaps steal something of Mr. Heathcliff's and sell it for a ticket to South America or elsewhere he would never be heard from again. He listened carefully to the noises in the hallway, finding only the ambient noises of people talking in the ballroom. With a quick turn of his heel, he stole down the hall away from the people, away from his victims, hopefully permanently away from _Rick _and his bullshit.

There was a very faint light coming from another grand ballroom not too far away. Upon inspection, Craig found it was filled with glass cases. He grinned; _jackpot._ Each of the cases were filled with ancient guns and knives. The thief strolled past the cases, observing their contents. A soft hum was his only response, but his mind was moving very fast. Everything was airtight, sealed without chance of moisture or dust reaching the artifacts. They were carefully displayed, lovingly arranged to show off their best features, while preserving the integrity of scabbards and holsters. Craig raised an eyebrow; he almost deigned to say he was _impressed_ with how they were handled.

There was now a very grave dilemma he faced. It went against all of his beliefs to steal something with the intent of selling it. Now that he was looking at a bunch of very ancient artifacts all very carefully preserved; he did not _want_ to steal them, no matter _who_ owned them. He huffed in frustration and walked out of the room. If he did not steal anything, he could not be at fault; he simply had to _trust_ the spoiled millionaire with his fate. This was something Craig was not at all comfortable with; but to preserve his morals, it was necessary.

As he exited, he spotted a figure watching from a backlit door, completely obscuring the person's face. The build and body language told Craig that he was being watched by none other than Mr. Heathcliff. Craig scowled as the figure disappeared, making his way back to the kitchen.

With a scowl, he realized he could not return to the ballroom without the champagne. He busied himself trying to find some champagne flutes. There was a crackle and whine of a microphone coming from the ballroom as his fingers curled around the long stems of a set of glasses. He paused to listen. The sounds from here were mostly muffled and people were still murmuring, but he heard an unfamiliar voice greeting everyone and welcoming them to some fundraising dinner. Craig frowned and set the glasses back down with a careless clink.

What he could make out was something about a museum, something about improving staff. Okay, this was too much. This was all too _weird._ He got here with the intention of stealing from a man, one who was known for being _quite_ the carefree playboy, who was supposed to be not home, found he was indeed home, and planned a _party _on top of it, filled to the brim with people he'd _stolen_ from and even the very _first_ person he had stolen from and was forced to show his _face_ to. If Craig thought about it, these clothes fit a little _too_ well to be coincidental and… Argh, he had to get out of here. Things were far beyond fishy and he had enough.

Finding the main doors wasn't so hard after a bit of searching. Craig figured he could send this godforsaken uniform back anonymously and cut his losses on his good pair of boots and his lucky pink belt. His hands nearly grabbed the huge handles to open the door, but someone caught his wrist. He looked up to see a pair of light blue eyes full of anger.

"You! Y-You were _him,_ weren't you! Th-That TEACHER, I _remember _you!" Wheatley Stuart was suddenly yelling at him.

Craig winced, realizing he must have been so focused to get out of this wretched place that he didn't even notice this clumsy fool coming at him, "Unhand me," he said simply.

"Ooooh no, I'm not letting you get away this time, mate, you almost cost me my job!" Mr. Stuart tugged on Craig's hand.

It took a sharp bite of his tongue to prevent Craig from losing his cool. Right now, he could feign innocence if he appeared to be nothing more than simple hired help. Throwing this guy over his shoulder with a few quick movements wasn't in his list of options, unfortunately. He took a deep breath and tried again.

"Please, _sir_, unhand me so I may leave from my shift, I don't know who you're referring to," he said slowly, as though he were speaking to a deranged moron.

Mr. Wheatley Stuart looked as though he were second guessing his decision to approach someone he was only half sure was a culprit to a very old crime, but his face immediately twisted into something more confident.

"_Actually_, do you have to leave right now? I mean, there was quite a bit more… _persuading_ involved last time, if I recall," the taller man cooed, "Very, very _convincing_ persuading, I might add."

Craig grit his teeth, torn between trying to stick to his lie and simply doing what the man was very _clearly_ asking for. It wasn't something he was _unaccustomed_ to, per say, and it had certainly gotten him out of trouble the first time… Craig didn't have much chance to make the decision.

"Oh, hey, _Wheatley_ was it?" Craig heard _that_ voice call out.

Mr. Stuart's hand unraveled itself from Craig's wrist and Craig immediately went for the door again. One meaty, over-sized millionaire hand pressed the door closed, Rick leaning against the door for extra emphasis. Wheatley's glasses were blocked out by the light from Craig's point of view, but his body language was all kinds of tense; he had to guess that Rick was respected and almost feared by the bumbling curator.

"Yes, that's me, Mr. Heathcliff, something I can do for you? Maybe help you see your way out? Anything?" Wheatley attempted, sounding strained and actually kind of rude.

"Actually, I was wondering if you could leave my wait staff alone, they tend to get run down to the bone, especially right _now_, y'know?" Rick said, voice silky smooth, but had an edge of threat in it.

Wheatley visibly balked, obviously getting the message; something that surprised Craig immensely. Perhaps he wasn't _such_ a moron when a thinly veiled threat was presented. Apologies were mumbled and soon, he was on his way back to the kitchen, muttering something about finding wine.Craig shot a glare up to Rick Heathcliff, shoulders tensing up to his ears in anger.

"How _dare_ you—"

"Hey now, I'm pretty sure I just saved your ass from getting caught."

"Something which I _still_ don't understand!"

"Don't mean y'gotta blow a guy to get away again," a shrug.

Craig resisted the urge to slug the bigger man right in the face. How did he _know_ that!

"Your little _party_ is over, isn't it? I'd like to _leave_ now!" Craig roared.

Rick got off of the door and waved over another of the waiters, instructing him to get Craig's things and to call a taxi. Craig frowned; he could have gotten his things on his own, as well as called his taxi. This presumptuous bastard was throwing him for a loop and he didn't like it any more than he liked being hit on by that ridiculous idiot Mr. Heathcliff had chased off.

"I'll see you later, sweetheart," Rick waved with a shameless wink, making Craig bristle further.

The maddening playboy returned to his fundraiser, leaving Craig to fume at the waiter who brought him a bag with his things, baton included. A taxi was neatly waiting outside and Craig was never happier to leave someplace as he was now. He had to get home and figure out some way to get to Brazil before he was caught by the police. It was inevitable and Craig didn't trust that arrogant, pretentious _prick_ any further than he could throw him. If past experience was any indication, it wasn't very far at all.

He growled out orders for the taxi cab driver to drop him off several blocks from his apartment complex. Yes, Richard Heathcliff had his name and it was going to be exceedingly simple to find him now, but he wasn't going to help him locate his place of residence _at all._

A quick climb up the fire escape brought him to his bedroom window. He carefully and quietly pulled the window open and slipped inside—His bedroom door was open and his bedroom wasn't… destroyed, but it had _definitely_ been disturbed. His closet was open and his bed moved; all of his drawers were partially closed. Craig was a man of habit; those habits never changed. His room had been tampered with. He pulled the baton out of his bag of clothes and moved out to the living room, finding it completely empty, save his humble futon. Craig's eyes widened with pure rage and shock, there was a little post card sitting on the cushions that was signed by none other than Rick Heathcliff.

Craig snatched up that postcard and shredded it to pieces with an angry snarl. That _BASTARD._ He already FOUND his apartment, and now Craig was going to make HEADS ROLL. He tore off the tuxedo shirt he was forced to wear in a rage, pulling out his original clothing for ease of a _fight._ That spoiled _asshole_ was going to get ripped a new one if Craig had _anything_ to say about it. Now that he knew just _how_ easy it was to get into that house, he was going to have _quite a lot_ to say.


	5. Chapter 5

A few carefully opened windows and very silent movement through an unfamiliar house at three in the morning brought a figure over Rick's bed. Craig eyed the man while he was asleep, baton extended and gloves very carefully tugged tight over his fingers. The baton lowered and pressed against Rick's chin roughly. He woke with a start, sitting up with a good deal of shock before his eyes adjusted slightly.

"How. Do. You. Know me?" Craig growled in a very low voice.

"Found your apartment, didja?" Rick asked smugly.

The baton whipped across Rick's cheekbone with a crack; Craig had more than enough by now, "Answer the fucking question."

Rick worked his jaw around, raising his hand to his face until the baton cracked across his wrist, causing him to immediately drop it back down. The thief's demeanor was very clear in his utter rage, standing over the bed with his shoulders hunched, though Rick could not see the shorter man's face.

"I know enough," Rick said, easy grin never faltering.

"_Bullshit._ You knew _me_, not just _about_ me, I'm not fucking _blind!_"

"You finally noticed? Took you long eno—"

Craig struck him across the face again with a vicious snarl, "The clothes, the fact that you were _here_ when you had ADVERTISED that you would not, all of your _guests_ that I happen to be _very_ familiar with, on top of your knowledge of a certain… _depraved act, ALL _points to that you did not just issue a challenge that newspaper to some _FACELESS THIEF."_

Rick grinned again, lip a little bit bloody from being hit with the baton. Craig made a very loud angry noise that sounded vaguely akin to a furious cat and raised his baton to crack it right on Rick's skull, but the man deftly caught his wrist with a smug smile before he connected.

"Did my homework, it seems. Known who you are for a while," he mockingly cooed at Craig.

"Fuck you!"

The attempt to pull away was foiled by a forceful push, knocking Craig off balance, forcing him to roll to the floor. Rick pulled himself out of bed, face bruised and lip bleeding, but looking just as fucking cheery as when he first found a failed thief hiding under his bed. Craig pushed himself to his feet, pulling his arm across his body before striking Rick's shoulder, who recoiled in pain, but didn't back off.

"Been trailing you quite a long time actually, Mr. Renshaw," he replied, aiming a lazily aimed punch toward his Craig's shoulder, which was misdirected with another crack of the baton, "Was… probably five years ago, when you went and stole something from a family friend. Think the guy saw you high-tailing it out of there, beat the shit out of one of his bodyguards. I got curious, read up on you, found you made a _habit_ out of it!"

Craig made an inhuman roar of rage and swung at his shoulder again, only to have his wrist caught yet again and twisted very cruelly behind his back. Rick's other muscular arm was wrapped around his chest. He could practically _feel_ the smug bastard grinning against his neck, which only served to piss him off further.

"You read the papers, you do your research; I found that out _really_ fast. You clean places out in no time and know them like your own house. You're not as careful as you think, though. I have… _contacts._ You saw your profile in that article, right? Wanna know why they had bullshit information? I _fed _it to them," Rick's voice was nearly gleeful as he relayed this information.

Craig thrashed, trying to free himself with the frenzy of a wounded animal. Rick obliged, letting him go, watching with amusement as the smaller man whipped around, gloved hands angling the baton in an arched fighting stance.

"You wanted what I stole," Craig accused, eyes flashing with anger.

"I don't know shit about that stuff, to be honest," Rick lazily stretched his arms above his head; he slept with just a pair of boxer briefs, a fact that was quickly making this fight a bit more distracting for Craig, as Rick didn't seem to care in the least about his immodesty.

"Then why the _fuck_ have you been tracking me!" Craig remembered his rage very quickly; leaving his disgust with the shameless man only a second behind.

Rick rolled his shoulders back and shrugged, "You don't know what my life is like, but _goddamn_ if yours isn't a helluva lot more interesting. You aren't some common crook, you don't steal for personal gain, but you're pretty damn _good_ at it, motives aside. The wiles, the grace, the cleverness, I was convinced you were actually a woman for a while, not knowing anything else about you, until I found out about Mr. Wheatley Stuart. _That_ took a long time, let me tell you."

Craig's fighting style was definitely not suited for offensive, but he couldn't care less at this point. He lashed out with his baton, cracking across Rick's chin again lightning quick; taking the moment the larger man was disoriented to kick him in the stomach. It was Rick's turn to crash to the floor, much to his six-foot-tall surprise. Knees were pressed onto his shoulders and the baton pressed to his neck sideways, making him lift his chin to stare at the furious blonde over him. The fire and plain _murder_ behind the man's glasses didn't deter Rick's mouth from tugging into a pained grin.

"What the FUCK do you want from me!" Craig nearly screamed, not caring just how loud he'd suddenly gotten for someone trying to stay unnoticed, though it was getting ridiculous.

Rick chuckled, only stopping when pressure was put sharply on his windpipe, "I want you to stay here," he gasped, still amused.

"_Bullshit_."

"I dunno _shit_ about the stuff we took from y-," Rick was cut off by more pressure on his windpipe.

"_You shouldn't have TAKEN it!" _

Rick's hands scrambled about for a handhold, both moving to rest right on Craig's hips, slipping behind to grip his ass almost cruelly. The man on top of him made an undignified squeak of surprise, giving Rick enough of an advantage to knock the skinny thief off of him. With only a heavy gasp to catch his breath, he hauled the thief off of the floor to dump him right on the bed. Craig fought back, only succeeding in dropping his baton with colorful words that Rick only understood half of through the smaller man's near-foaming rage.

A twist of his arms and not much effort had Craig sprawling against the mattress for something that brought them both a bit of nostalgia from their last meeting. Once Rick had a tight grip on his new captive's wrists, a boot swung his direction; Rick tightened his grip on Craig's hands, making him relax with a hiss of pain, arching his back at the feeling of his hands being nearly crushed. The millionaire positioning himself between his legs made him try to kick away again, but the death grip on his hands prevented that, making him bite back a howl of pain.

"Now you're going to hear me out, got it? You can keep all of that stuff you stole, I won't turn you in, if you move in here," Rick explained, moving his free hand up Craig's chest, drawing his fingertips across his captive's neck, tracing his collarbones.

Craig flinched away, jutting his chin out defiantly, eyes still flashing with anger, but Rick continued, "You. Are far from what I expected personally. No record, not real motives, and mostly, I didn't expect you to be _this_ goddamn _beautiful_."

That was just enough for Craig to forget the pain in his hands to buck his hips, attempting to throw the larger man off balance, but he expected it, a large hand laid heavily across Craig's thin hips, pressing him back into the mattress. That large hand began to flip open his lucky pink belt quickly, deftly flipping open the button, unzipping the zipper.

Craig bucked again, growling loud enough to even make Rick hesitate for all of a half-second, "I am NO WOMAN, you vile_ bastard, _get your _filthy_ hands off me!"

Rick's chuckle was low and maddening, "Weren't _you_ the one offering to sleep with me to get out of here, _Craig_? I'll flip it for you, I'll knock it off _if_ you agree to stay here and take care of the shit you stole _properly_."

"_Over my dead body,_" Craig hissed, not bluffing in the least.

"Don't plan on all that, Mr. Renshaw," Rick cooed, running his fingers across Craig's very bare length, "Just either making you agree to a very mutually beneficial deal or having my way with you."

Craig struggled again, cock involuntarily twitching, "I said, _get your hands off of me!"_

"You asked for it," was the reply, the hand on his wrists removed.

The half second that he was released, Craig froze in confusion. It wasn't until a very _warm_ something was around his unwillingly hard length that he remembered he had the use of his hands. His back was arching toward that warm, wet something, fingers curling into the sheets. This was completely unexpected; this man was basically his accidental _stalker_ and held his fate in the balance rather _forcibly_ and now he was between his legs suddenly sucking his cock. The shock faded, Craig's mind still hazed from the sudden sensation, but now he was frantically groping around the bed for his baton in spite of his fuzzy mind.

His body was twisted slightly, frantically groping as best he could while the millionaire held down his hips; an obscene _slurp_ made Craig's back arch backwards with a low moan, "_Oohgod—GET OFF!"_

Mr. Heathcliff's hummed laughter was very obvious, drawing a bitten back whine from the thief beneath him. Craig's hand connected with his goal with his frantic fumbling; not half a second after his fingers wrapped around the handle of his baton was it cruelly crashing down on the hands around his hips. Rick pulled away with an angry cry, snatching his hands off long enough for Craig to get in a sharp kick to the bulky man's shoulder. Craig watched with more than a little satisfaction as he stumbled backward; the next kick spun him around and another had him face down on the floor.

In a flash, Craig's lucky pink belt was whipped off of his belt loops and he was on the floor, wrapping the pink leather around Mr. Heathcliff's wrists, tightening the buckle behind his back. The stronger man fought back, of course, but Craig was quick and dexterous. Had he been thinking clearly, he might have left as soon as he could, but the struggle had one firm, boxer clad ass grinding against his still very hard cock which left his mind just as hazy as it had been. Rick was uncharacteristically silent in that tense, but brief moment that Craig was trying to decide what to do about it.

Tearing those boxers made the smug bastard jump, Craig noted with more than a little glee; digging his gloved fingers into his tanned skin made him swear, too. In all of his life, the bitter thief never wanted to make anyone hurt more than right this second. A swipe of saliva across his cock again allowed him to be comfortable enough to press the head of his uncomfortably hard erection against the man's entrance.

"H-hey…," the millionaire said, voice unsteady.

Craig's hands steadied him back in place, fingers digging into his hips, after he'd flinched away from the pushing, now the pressure was twofold and Rick inhaled sharply, "What was that about _having your way with me_, Mr. Heathcliff?"

"Hold on, hold on we can talk about—_shitSHIT!"_

Craig's mouth quirked into a smug, but strained smile, effectively shutting him up with a sharp _push_ that had Rick swearing sharply, attempting to wriggle away from the smaller man. A hard slap across his ass was a fierce reminder than Craig was completely in control now; arms bound and blunted, gloved scratches across his hips were preventing Rick from getting moving away. The more Craig _pushed_, the louder Rick started to outright _moan._ Gritted teeth were the only thing between the open air and the choked groan at the back of Craig's throat, too; he was unused to the tightness, unused to sleeping with _anyone _at all, regardless of position.

"Fuck _fuck fuck!" _Rick continued to hiss in pain, forcing himself to breath in short, strangled gasps to try to relax, try to mitigate the unfamiliar, agonizing stretching.

"H-Have it your way!" Craig hissed, groaning at the pulling sensation he initiated.

He nearly pulled all the way out before pushing back in; harder, faster. Rick's neck arched toward the thief with a howl of a hybrid of pain, pleasure, and a touch of shame for plainly being so loud. Craig's gloved hand lashed out, yanking back on the other man's dark hair, burying himself all the way back into him. Rick's back arched statuesque, Craig leaned forward enough so the dark haired man could feel his heavy breath against his ear.

"I-Is this what you wanted, Mr. Heathcliff?" Craig gasped, rocking his hips against the man's ass with a staccato groan.

Rick's eyes were squeezed shut tightly, his brows drawn dramatically downward, "F-hah-uck," he gasped mid-swear, mouth hanging open.

That was not the answer Craig was looking for; he dug his fingers into his hip again, pulling out only to pound back into the maddening tightness several more times. The sounds coming from Rick's throat were guttural and desperate, only encouraging the rough manner that Craig was approaching this very plain _fucking_ with. Every muscle was tense with sensation and a subtle fight for power. Every so often, Rick's hips would attempt to jerk away, only to have Craig yank back on hair, making the bigger man cry out.

Craig moved his hand to Rick's bound wrists, triumphantly caressing the belt that held the man who took _everything_ he'd worked for, "You didn't… fucking… answer!"

Again, there wasn't an answer; Craig let go of the hair, hooking both hands just under the man's hips. He started to thrust into him _hard_ and fast, slamming his cock into him as hard as he dared, so much so that Craig was convinced _he_ would bruise in the morning. Rick's face was buried in the carpet, his gasps punctuated by the occasional sharp moan. Craig swore he heard something through his lust hazed mind that sounded like Rick was _begging_ for the blonde to _fuck him._

That knowledge was far more arousing than it should have been; Craig leaned back slightly with a groan, moving nearly subconsciously. He _couldn't_ stop now; that angle changed and suddenly Rick's head jerked back up.

"OH_GOD, FUCK ME," _he moaned shamelessly now, the sound low and guttural in the back of his throat.

Craig was only too happy to oblige, thrusting at that same angle with pointed and smug pleasure at the way the millionaire thrashed beneath him. Craig's arms were wrapped around Rick's stomach with his fingers hooked together. Every hard thrust had the man pushing his cock toward those gloved hands until Craig unconsciously grabbed it, stroking it with his leather gloved hands.

Rick arched again, spewing near nonsense, "Oh _FUCK, oh god, please goddammit, I'm so fucking close! PLEASE."_

If Craig weren't in the exact same predicament, he might have asked what the hell Rick was _pleading _for, but he could only gasp in response, speeding up stroking the length in his hands.

"Mmnghh," Craig moaned through a bitten lip, head tilted back with eyed closed.

The sensation around his cock started to tense up all of a sudden. He opened his eyes with a labored gasp, pushing harder as it got more difficult to thrust into the man beneath him. He wasn't entirely sure what he remembered expecting out of this, but _fuck_ he was about to get _something._

"Oh god, oh _god_, _aahn!_" Craig leaned forward; lying across Rick's back, groaning loudly into his skin as he came inside of him.

Craig's hands were still moving very quickly across Rick's member; the man was still moaning with his shoulders pressed against the carpet. Craig rocked his hips against him once more, making Rick's neck crane backwards.

"_Shit!_" he swore.

Craig pulled his hands away and his gloves were covered in that white sticky substance. He stared at his gloves in horror, as if he just realized what he had done. As Rick crumpled to the floor completely, Craig rose to his feet, stumbling toward an obvious bathroom, frantically wiping himself on the bath towels. He had to hold on to the door frame while doing his pants up again, his legs were shaking so bad.

Wide-eyed, Craig stumbled around the room, picking up his baton and muttering to himself about how he had to leave and the excuses why. His school started class tomorrow, he left his oven on, he had an appointment, just whatever would come to his mouth at the time. Somewhere, the part of him that recognized what happened wasn't sure if he should be smug or ashamed. The thief finally deigned to look at the man gasping on the carpet, vainly attempting to follow his trip pacing around his room. That made him make a bee-line for the door faster than anything.

"Wait," Rick gasped, struggling to sit up and look, "Wait, don't… don't leave."

Craig hesitated for a solid ten seconds before striding across the room to unravel his lucky belt from around the man's wrists. The freed hands immediately tried to grab, but Craig was already scurrying out the door without a second thought to Mr. Heathcliff and his offer.


	6. Chapter 6

Saying he had class the next day wasn't a lie. Craig was attempting to push all the thoughts of the weekend fiasco out of his head as he went to walk home. He was far too paranoid to drive his car right now. He hadn't figured out how to escape Mr. Heathcliff's clutches in that sense. That self-indulgent prick still could turn him in at a moment's notice. Craig nervously adjusted his tie, tucking it back into the sweater he was wearing for the cool September afternoon; he felt restricted in it right now, knowing that he was living on borrowed time now.

A slick black limousine pulled up just in front of him. Craig nearly turned around and ran away, not even bothering to find out if it was a coincidence or perhaps the FBI coming to collect him. If he thought straight at that point, he might realize that he wouldn't be picked up in a limo…

"Hey there, gorgeous," a voice called, just as Craig managed to turn around.

His shoulders tensed up nearly immediately. _It was him._ Craig almost got away, but that ridiculous hand circled his bicep and steered him, very unwillingly, to the limousine. He was shuffled in and he pressed his back to the other side, attempting to open the door. It was locked with no signs of a button. Of course. He didn't know how to pick the lock of a car door, let alone have the tools to do it for an _audience_. Rick got in after him, seeming much more at home in the dark leather interior than Craig did, his back pressed up against the opposite car door.

A beer was offered to him, Craig refused, warily eyeing the other man. As far as Craig was concerned, he was going to be dead for what he did last night. The air didn't say that Rick was mad, but Craig never prided himself on being good at reading atmosphere. One could never be too careful.

"Thought about my offer?" Rick began, fishing a bottle opener out of one of the door pockets.

The relief on Craig's face couldn't be clearer and Rick chuckled. The other man wasn't watching, but Craig's eyes narrowed into a glare. It had been less than twenty-four hours and he'd been living like a scared animal, looking around every corner for someone to tackle him down and handcuff him. Sure, when he was trying to spite the smug bastard in front of him, prison didn't seem so bad, but now… He was still scrambling for a way to get to South America, if that said enough.

"You want your stuff back, don't you?" he asked, sipping from the bottle he held.

This was ridiculous. Rick finally looked over at him, leaning on his knees holding the bottle of beer between them. The gears in Craig's mind were working, regardless. No, he didn't want to live the life similar to a fugitive. He didn't want to be afraid to step out of his house every day and if he accepted this decidedly _unpleasant_ offer, that could stop. He'd already proven that despite his small stature, he was more than enough of a match for a man who was at least six inches taller and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. If last night was any indication, Richard Heathcliff didn't mind in the _least_ either. Not that Craig intended for _that_ to happen _ever_ again, but… Craig swallowed the bitter taste of fear in his mouth.

"A live-in historian," he clarified, to which Rick gave a little shrug and a nod, "Someone to take care of your little _trinkets_ along with the artifacts I've acquired… That kind of job would _typically_ pay quite handsomely. I'm not convinced."

Rick snorted out a laugh again, "Money doesn't matter much. I'll pay you well, plus expenses to take care of'em."

Craig hummed thoughtfully, "Of course, accomodations…"

"There are about fifteen completely unoccupied rooms in that goddamn house."

"And my interaction with you…"

Rick's grin was wide and nearly predatory, "As needed for a while. After that, well… I doubt you'll be able to stay away."

Craig scoffed, "I _highly_ doubt that, it is a _big_ house."

"You would know. You'd make a great sparring partner, among _other_ things," Rick drawled, glancing over at the blonde after a swig from his bottle.

"Doubtful as well," Craig deadpanned.

"Do we have a deal?"

Craig frowned, "I'm still unsure why in the hell you're doing this."

"What can I say? Developed a little crush," Rick said airily, smile wide.

"You're not helping yourself."

"You'll say yes anyway."

Bastard was right, "Fine."

Rick laughed and tapped the window where the chauffer was. The limo started moving and the grin on Rick's face couldn't be wider. Craig would simply have to beat it out of him later. It wasn't like the man put up _that_ much of a fight.


End file.
